


Egging his Ego

by truc



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Conversations, Egging, Humour, Idealism, Kidnapping, Love, M/M, Metropolis vs Gotham, Mild Language, Post-breakup, Secret Identity, Vandalism, Vigilante, date, recently adopted Jason Todd, relationship, superbat exchange 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21873967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: One week after Superman's and Batman's disastrous public breakup (of which everyone, including Jason, thinks they had a professional falling out), Bruce and Jason go on a Metropolis bonding trip.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Jason Todd, Superman/Batman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 196
Collections: Superbat Exchange Winter 2019





	Egging his Ego

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Behind_The_Hood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Behind_The_Hood/gifts).



"Fuck Superman!" Jason yelled as he threw a third egg hard at the impressive Superman statue. People were now filming or taking pictures of Bruce's ward's outburst. 

Fines for vandalizing monuments in Metropolis could go up to $5,000, Bruce calculated. It was unlikely Jason, as a minor, would face jail time if he apologized and showed remorse...

That was, unfortunately, never going to happen.

In hindsight, Bruce should have guessed Jason was up to something the moment he mentioned, less than a week after Superman and Batman had a very public falling out, that he wanted them to go to Metropolis. 

A good paternal figure would have sat down with Jason and explained that Bruce would manage the situation by himself. 

However, since the incident, Bruce had felt the bone-chilling paralyzing effect of his demons invading his mind and body. Tiredness had been overwhelming. Lucius could deal with Wayne Enterprises; Veronica could handle the Martha Wayne Foundation Ball; and: Alfred had a better relationship with his ward. Nobody needed Bruce. So, Bruce had "fallen" ill and disappeared from the public sphere. 

It didn't matter that Bruce hadn't gotten out of bed in the past week for business other than Batman's. He should never have let Alfred guilt-trip him into amending his weekly romantic date night into a bonding experience with Jason.

As much as Bruce knew he should stop his ward, he numbly gazed on as the dripping semi-liquid glazed over the monument's proud look. The older man tuned out the spectators' scandalized gasps.

The statue looked nothing like the real Superman. The one who had mercilessly teased him about his goosebumps. _"Are you scared?"_ the man had once whispered, amused.

Scared had been too mild a word to describe Batman's feelings. Terrified or elated fit his mind's state much better. From behind his mask, Batman could observe his unescapable fall deep into the recesses of Superman's embrace. Batman should have been too experienced and jaded to savour the swirling madness of young and unrepentant love.

Jason brushed his hands off and turned in Bruce's direction. "Let's go." His guardian gave a small relieved nod. 

When they entered Bruce's car, Jason directed him to another spot. To Bruce's horror, there was another grand Superman statue waiting near the next parking spot.

"Jay," Bruce pleaded. "Please tell me we're not here to vandalize another statue."

Jay grinned mischievously. "We're on a Superman-bashing-tour. Of course, we're here to 'make a statement' on all of his Metropolis statues."

Bruce pushed back his hair. "Jay..."

Before Bruce could explain anything, Jason had already unlocked his door and ran outside with his suspicious-looking bag.

Sighing, the older man begrudgingly followed. He looked on as Jason excitingly sprinted towards the monument. This one's pose, unlike the first one with hands on the hips, was doing his famous Superman's pose.

Hands in pockets, Bruce watched as Jason threw two rotten eggs and toilet paper over the glorified piece of art. Bits and pieces of eggshells littered over the statue's head while the stained toilet paper flapped awkwardly in the soft breeze.

The real Superman never looked this much in disarray. And his genuine smiles had a way of melting Bruce's apprehensions.

Kissing on the Watchtower with the stars as their only witnesses, they had shifted ever closer. Somewhere along the way, Superman's joyful entreaties had resonated with Batman's soul. He had made the dangerous mistake of relaxing against the hard body pressed around him. Batman hadn't averted his gaze from the spectacle that a moonlight soft Superman afforded him. His dark eyelashes had stood out against the hero's unmarred- perfect had a place to be used in these circumstances- skin. His hands, so powerful and fierce, had been cradling his jaw as delicately as if he was a young child in need of comfort. Maybe, in another life, Batman would have been insulted.

Instead of regretting his deplorable error of judgment, every cell in Batman's body had radiated a single unified thought: 'I love you.'

The yolk squished upon Superman's face veiled the appearance Bruce had grown to love. Jason frowned critically at the statue before throwing another egg at it. 

"Time to move on," Jason declared, face alighted with excitation and fun. Maybe Bruce should have refused, but he had always had difficulty denying his ward when he was genuine in his requests.

Together, they walked back to the car. Bruce listened to Jason's next address. 

While driving, the older man tried to start a conversation. "Is this your first time in Metropolis?"

"Yes," Jason responded with wary eyes.

"Is there anything except vandalism you would want to see or do here?" 

Jason ached like a cat on the verge of striking. "Metropolis sucks. Gotham is so much more awesome." Everything in his posture dared Bruce to contradict him.

"Metropolis sucks," Bruce wholeheartedly agreed. "But there is some pretty cool stuff to be found if you know where to look for them. Would you care to try some of their food booths?"

Jason narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "I can't be bought with food. I'm on a mission."

The car changed lanes. Bruce wasn't used to the distinct lack of potholes; he had the neurotic impression this was a trap; in Gotham, it surely would have been. "What exactly is that mission?"

Jason grinned evilly. "To show Gotham's pride. Superman or not, nobody gets to come to Gotham and diss Batman without repercussions."

Bruce sighed. "Jay..."

"I know what you're gonna say," Jason interrupted. He mimed Bruce's serious face with some measure of talent. "'Vandalism is bad.'" He resumed his face with a rictus. "I know it's criminal. That's not the same. Beating up a whore is legal, but kissing someone's ass is not. That's not fair."

It was hard not to be worried about Bruce's capacity for raising a kid. Even Bruce was. 

"Beating a prostitute is illegal. Beating anyone is illegal," Bruce corrected.

Jay frowned at him. "But it shouldn't. Some motherfucker has it coming. Like Collin's father. He's the guy who used to sell kids before the gangs murdered him for stealing." Jason meditated some more and added,"Besides, Batman is a good guy and he beats up people." He gave his mentor a pointed look, daring him to refute his reasoning. Jason had learned that he could only talk about Bruce's secret identity with a third party lingo.

Bruce swallowed. "Batman's situation is a lot grayer than that."

Jason shook his head and looked outside. "No, it's not. Sometimes, to do the _right_ thing, you have to do the _wrong_ thing." Bruce felt uncomfortable with Jason's conclusion.

They kept their silence to their next destination. This time, Bruce properly parked his vehicle; he didn't need a parking fine on top of a vandalism charge. This time, Jason waited for him, albeit impatiently.

By the time they arrived at Superman's statue, there was a crowd. Bruce frowned and looked around. There was no indication these were tourists or that an event was unfolding there.

When people spotted him and Jason, they quieted down and stared at them; some were whispering among themselves, but most were filming them with their camera.

"Jay," Bruce whispered from the corner of his mouth, "we don't want a riot on our hands."

Jason smiled ferally as he strutted confidently through the crowd, opening up as if he was Moses parting the Red Sea. He set down his bag and carefully picked up an egg. Nobody intervened when he sent it sailing at the smiling Superman. 

Bruce relaxed a bit when he saw the crowd was not too hostile. As a second egg found its home atop the monument, Bruce heard someone call his name.

"Mr. Wayne," a bespectacled man called. "Why are you letting your ward exacerbate city rivalry and cause public damage?"

Bruce, hands in his pockets, looked at the reporter pushing back his glasses on. For a prolonged time, he just blinked at the reporter, shock well-hidden under his facade. "Who are you?"

"Clark Kent from the Daily Planet," the man said as he frowned at him. 

"Of course you are," Bruce laughed mirthlessly. Why would Superman be anything other than a goody-two-shoes reporter writing about Superman? They were nothing like Bruce Wayne and Batman.

The broad man cocked his head in confusion.

Bruce gestured at his son decorating the public monument. "Why don't you follow a real story? My son is simply expressing his artistic vision on an available canvas."The reporter narrowed his eyes. 

Jason chose that moment to cheer. "Down with Superman!"

Someone picked that moment to ask Jason why he was doing that. 

The boy replied, "You have five Superman statues around this city. It's your way of telling people you approve of his actions. Well, I won't stand his fucking arrogance. Nobody, especially not a Metropolis flying monkey, gets to tell off Gothamites in their city. So, fuck off, Superman." Jason took that moment to show his middle fingers.

Bruce had to admit he was proud that Jason had a flair for the dramatic. Clark Kent was not as impressed by the show. "You were saying?" 

Something cracked Bruce's generalized numbness. Through the cracks, he could feel locked feelings seeping. Bruce's fondness morphed to something uglier, more wily. "I was saying that my son is right."

Clark Kent seemed baffled. "He's right?"

Bruce stepped into Jason's space. "Jay, hand me an egg, will you?"

Jason's sunny smile was more than enough to convince Bruce he had made the right call, consequences be damned. He pulled his sleeves to his elbows and took the proffered egg. 

The crowd moved in closer, looking for the show Bruce was sure to produce.

"At the start, I tried to dissuade Jay from doing this. However, when he pointed out nobody was getting hurt, that we'd pay for the damages and that; and sometimes, as you have to stand up for your convictions, I had reluctantly agreed to help him out." Nothing of the sort had happened, but Jason was well versed enough in Bruce's bullshitting habits to nod in agreement.

Bruce caressed the egg as Hamlet might have the skull. "Now, you see a man moved by his son's conviction. Jason," he one-handed hugged his son to his side, "is someone ready to tell even Superman, this world's most powerful hero, that he's wrong? How could he not have a bright future in front of him?" Bruce could feel Jason melting at the praises and Clark fuming at his irresponsible behaviour.

"I may not know the full story behind Batman and Superman's feud last week. I don't even know if Batman was as much an asshole as Superman. However, Jason is right; Gothamites have the right to choose their heroes. Superman was welcome in Gotham to assist Batman, not to publicly humiliate Gotham's hero. So, Superman, heed this message."

Bruce sent the egg flying at Superman's statue, sullying the man he had revered in bed. The egg's shell had shattered in half; it seemed like Superman now wore an ugly hat over the egg sprayed disaster. The cathartic feeling that emerged deep in Bruce's chest made him feel alive again. Breathing became easier; suddenly, he was free from his self-loathing- and suffocating- corset. 

_A week ago, Gotham._

_"Superman, I need your help," Batman had requested._

_The Man of Steel, as reliable as ever, had appeared in front of him in all of his excellence. "What is wrong?"_

_Batman gestured to the house. "They have kids as hostages, but if we save them, they'll bomb two buildings. Are you good at disarming bombs?"_

_Superman shook his head as he frowned. "I'm not particularly good at it."_

_Batman would have to use plan B._

_"Can you go on standby by the buildings with the bombs?"_

_Superman asked, "Why don't I take care of the hostages; you take care of the bomb?"_

_"Too risky," Batman answered. "The bombs' activation button is in three different people's hands. Even if you superspeed one or two safely away, chances are the third one would push the button. They have cameras near the bombs' location. If I try to dismantle the bombs before the hostages are released, they'll kill the hostages."_

_Superman pinched his lips together. "What can you do then?"_

_"I have something that may be enough to disengage the bomb transmitter. Look after the buildings in case the bombs do explode. Minimize losses of life."_

_Superman nodded unconvincingly. "I'll keep an eye on the buildings." His arm wrapped itself around Batman's waist. "Be careful," Superman whispered in his ear._

_"I always am," Batman assured him with the same seriousness. With one last eye contact, Superman flew into position._

_Batman looked at the three key crooks' position. Hopefully, the mechanism would work as it should. He pushed himself into the tight air ducts; people never constructed them with Batman traveling in them in their mind. Craning armoured limbs into a claustrophobe's nightmare was not his idea of fun._

_His progress was slow and constant. When he was at the junction of the three criminals' location, he engaged his mechanism. Now, he only needed to get the drop on them before the hostages were hurt._

_There were five subordinates to every location. Walky-talkies kept them in contact with each other. Batman would have to strike efficiently._

_At the first location, Batman covered his mouth and nose with a mask and dropped his gas pellet. The criminals and kids fell asleep too fast to register it. Batman only made sure the walky-talkies didn't clatter to the ground._

_Batman quickly went to the next location by the air vents system. Once again, everything went according to plan._

_At the last location, his plan went sideways._

_There was heightened tension for a start. Maybe this batch of criminals was more nervous; maybe their colleagues' radio silence was getting to them. No matter, when one of the children started sobbing for his mommy, one of the criminals reflexively aimed his weapon at the kid. With the man's nervousness, Batman could not chance it; he jumped in and pushed the man's gun away. From his position, he could not reach all the underlings with batarangs._

_He showed them a similar mechanism to the group's bomb trigger. "If a kid is injured, Marcella will explode." Unfortunately, Batman's bluff didn't have the intended result._

_The criminals pointed their arms at the closest children. "Don't move or we'll kill them!" one man yelled._

_The leader glanced at his men and shot them all, to their stupefaction, in the head. Fortunately, the shock of the betrayal delayed their reaction enough that no child died by 'accidental gunshot.'"You won't kill Marcella, now, will you? I'm cooperating," The man calmly reasoned. Amid the children's cries of shock and horror, his cold-blooded disposition unnerved Batman._

_Batman was horrified at the man's action; he had counted on him being willing to compromise his task for the sake of his daughter, not kill everyone on his team. Men like Charles Tribol were selfish. They always thought that their families were more important than the rest of the world._

_Batman didn't think the man would go this far. Although, in retrospect, he should have known Charles Tribol was not one to gamble his daughter's safety on his men's impulsiveness._

_"I won't," Batman agreed. This night had granted already too many deaths. "Lower your gun and put your trigger down." The man impassively obeyed. He even lifted his arms in the standard powerless posture._

_After Batman called it in, first responders started pouring in. Herding the crying kids was quite the task._

_Batman felt anger warm his chest. Despite his many convictions, Batman didn't care for the men's loss of life as much as the children's traumatism. The men chose this way of life; the children hadn't, but they would suffer lasting damages. Like he had._

_Clenching his fist, Batman made his way to Commissioner Gordon. They stared at one another. After events such as this, their eyes did most of the talking._

_Sometimes, Jim thought he needed to say something. Tonight was such a night._

_"Good job," the older man stated._

_"The plan failed," Batman snapped back._

_Jim looked at the dark looming sky. "They often do. But you saved the children. Overall, I count this as a win."_

_Batman didn't. Neither did Superman._

_Neither could let sleeping dogs lie._

Some people in the crowd were cheering Bruce's assault on the Superman symbol. Bruce waved at them and let his ward drag him to their car. He saw Clark Kent shaking his head from the corner of his eyes.

They sat. "What's the next address?"

Jason read it to him. For a while, he observed the city. "Does it ever rain here?" 

"It does," Bruce answered. This time, their silence felt organic. 

"Is the offer still there?" To Bruce's surprise, Jason shyly asked-the kid was never shy.

Bruce glanced at him. "Which one?"

"Food stalls. There's no cloud here. I guess this is my chance to see you eat a hot-dog with your hands and without blaming the temperature."

"I never did that," Bruce denied. 

"You did." Jason shook his head in exasperation (as if he was the adult in their relationship). 

"When?"

"Well, remember that time you picked me from school when it rained?"

Bruce hid a smile. "That's not the same. I didn't want to spoil your appetite before dinner. Today, I've already informed Alfred we wouldn't be eating dinner at the Manor."

"Are we going to jail?" Jason curiously asked. 

Bruce shrugged. "You? Maybe juvie. Me? Yes."

A pause. "I never visited a Metropolis jail or juvie. Is it nicer than Gotham's jail?"

Bruce grimaced. "It looks better from the outside. Inside, it's more of the same."

"Metropolis, in a nutshell," Jason commented. Bruce had no snappy comeback to add.

When they arrived at the fourth location, the crowd was even more impressive. There was no fazing Jason when he had set his mind to something.

"Let's go," Jason impatiently said. Bruce followed him to the statue. This time, people were saying or yelling things at them. He could hear bits and pieces. 

"...heritage..."

"...Superman is cool..."

"Stop...!"

"You'll get arrested, you psychopaths..."

"...whipping kids..."

Bruce kept a protective hand on his ward's shoulder as they made their way in the crowd. He felt the antagonism in the very air surrounding them.

"Go back to Gotham!" Bruce made his way to the front of his ward. Tall and wide, it was much harder for anyone to destabilize him. They forged again, both attuned to the crowd's perturbation.

Their hostility could quickly evolve into something worse, Batman knew. Undaunted, Jason pushed forward. 

This time, he had a hard time picking up his egg without being squashed. Bruce didn't know how wild the crowd would turn when Jason started throwing eggs. 

Somehow, his concerns were unwarranted. Metropolis citizens were more restrained than Gotham's when it came to protests. They let Jason throw his eggs without issue, although Bruce was willing to bet that had he done the same, they'd have physically stopped him. 

Unfortunately, crowd control was not the only issue they faced. 

When a giant robot jumped from a nearby building, Bruce knew they were in trouble. People started panicking. Shouldn't they be used to this by now?

But why a humanoid robot? Was it Lex Luthor or Toyman? Why were they even obsessed with humanoid robots? It wasn't the most efficient use of robots.

Superman's villains were weird, Bruce decided, pulling his ward to his side. The giant robot walked in their direction. Bruce could feel the tremors under his feet.

"Jay," Bruce said as he looked at the blinking lights mounted on the robots. Toyman, then.

"Yes?" his ward answered, steel in his voice though his hands shook. 

"Run," the older man ordered as they ran in their car's direction.

"Not so fast!" a voice boomed from the robot. Definitively Toyman.

Bruce and Jason dodged an outstretched robot limb.

"Stop!"

"We're not stupid, dumbass!" Jason yelled over his shoulder. Unfortunately, it also meant he wasn't looking where he was going. He stumbled and fell flat on the ground. 

"Jay!" Bruce yelled. 

The robot grabbed Jason in his hand and walked away. 

Bruce gritted and clenched his fists. It was time for Batman to make an appearance. Thankfully, he had packed his suit in his car's secret compartment.

He changed himself in a quiet place and did something he hated: he called Superman. He hated having his hand forced, but his ward's safety was the priority. 

When Superman arrived, he looked upset and angry. Before they could get into another fight, Batman spoke succinctly: "Toyman kidnapped a kid. I need transport."

Superman crossed his arms. "You have a lot of nerve to ask me that. I'm not your fancy plane."

Batman narrowed his eyes at him. "We don't have time for this. There's a kid in harm's way."

Superman snorted. "Toyman destroys property, but he would never harm people."

Villains who wouldn't hurt kids. How nice. 

Except for Catwoman and Poison Ivy, Batman would not swear any of his villains wouldn't harm or kill kids.

"However," Superman continued reluctantly, "We should still rescue the child... Nobody should be subject to Winslow Schott's wrath." 

Their eyes met, yet neither made any move for Batman's transport arrangement. Sighing, Superman gestured that the other man should come closer. Batman resolutely walked to one step away from his counterpart. 

When Superman took him in his arms, Batman tensed. Superman tensed, in an uncomfortable feedback loop. The unease was palpable throughout the self-conscious trip. 

Finding Toyman's new robot hideout hadn't been too difficult; there were only so many places someone could hide giant robots in Metropolis. Batman could not jump out of Superman's arms fast enough for his taste. 

"What's the plan?" Superman mumbled. 

"We observe the situation and take appropriate action," Batman responded.

Superman squinted at him. "What does appropriate action entail in your neck of the woods?"

Batman had no time to hash out their last disastrous conversation. "Where's the child?" 

"He's there." Superman pointed to a wall near them.

Batman could tell from Superman's lack of action that the situation was not as simple as he had hoped. It was hard for the vigilante to appear detached and professional: Jay was in danger. "What's wrong."

Superman frowned and shook his head. "I'm not sure. He doesn't seem to be conscious."

The embers of worry conflagrated. Batman's even heartbeat barely sped, but his mind blurred in panic. "Is he breathing?"

There was a slight delay-one that felt like an eternity. "Yes."

Batman almost sighed aloud; it was only his survival instinct of not showing weakness that pushed him through the ordeal.

"Why don't you pick him up?" Batman growled.

"He's booby-trapped," Superman answered.

Batman pursed his lips together. "Didn't you say he wouldn't harm him?"

"He won't," Superman assured with a frown. "He likes kids. That's why he makes them toys. We just have to convince him to remove his trap. It shouldn't be hard."

The explanation did nothing to assuage Batman's fear. There were too many examples of villains 'liking' something too much or in an inappropriate manner. Booby-trapping a kid was never a good start to proving someone cared about children.

"Where is he?" Batman rasped.

Superman pointed in another direction. "He's building something. Not sure what it is."

Batman disappeared in the place's shadows. "Let's go."

Superman led the way. When the villain was near enough, the superhero pressed his hands on his hips. "Winslow, why would you kidnap a child?" His tone was his 'public' disappointed tone; the one with an almost paternalist edge to it-he had known better than to ever use it on Batman.

The old bearded man startled at the interjection. "Superman," he called in surprise, "You came to thank me in person?"

"Why would I thank you for kidnapping a child?" Superman's tone was still as patient as ever. It grated on Batman's nerves like a fork grating on a plate.

Winslow gestured to the room Jason was being held in. "He besmirched your image. Someone had to stop him. I was repaying my debt to you."

Superman looked stern but, from Batman's perspective, it wasn't enough, not with his son in danger. "Everyone is entitled to their opinions, Winslow. You shouldn't ever kidnap a child."

Enthralled, the old man smiled. "You're too good for this world." 

Among the half-illuminated rubbish superposed on half-finished projects, Superman cut the figure of an unattainable divine entity. His pristine suit covered a body that knew no 'off' days; his hair curled with the same stubborn exactness; his expression held a genuine interest in this man's welfare and perspective. This balanced and clear-cut figure was the one countless photographers strove to achieve through thousands of edits and reality manipulation. Yet, Superman effortlessness seemed authentic and sincere. Ambivalent emotions mixed in the cauldron of Bruce's mind. Prior admiration tasted bitter post-breakup, and not only because of heartbreak.

"Release the child," Batman ominously requested from the darkness, his home.

Winslow, terrified, glanced at the shadows, hoping to find this dangerous myth. The man's spooked appearance imitated a child's inner terror of the monster under the bed. It was fitting, Batman thought.

Superman frowned in his colleague's direction. He wasn't a guardian; he couldn't understand the way worry about a child gnawed on a guardian's nerves in a more corrosive way than potassium hydroxide even when said child was not held hostage by a deluded man. 

Batman appeared behind the man and murmured in his ears. "Release the child." The hard and unforgiving tone spoke more eloquently than any well-chosen words. Implying threats rather than describing them was, in Batman's experience, much more likely to yield the wanted result. 

The older man shook, already on the verge of a meltdown. Batman grabbed one of the man's arms. "Now." He could feel Winslow hyperventilating at the psychological pressure Batman thrust onto him.

_Swoosh._

Batman gritted his teeth at Superman's intervention. By taking the man out of Batman's grasp, he had, in his polite way, rebuffed his colleague's method. "What my colleague is saying," Superman cut a warning look to Batman, "is that we want to make sure the child is unharmed."

Winslow's wide eyes could not move away from the shadows. "He's... Fine. I promise. Please don't let him hurt me."

"He won't," Superman promised as he squeezed, reassuringly, the kidnapper's shoulder. "He's simply worried about a child's wellbeing." Wary eyes wandered upon him.

The man's shoulders still shook in terror. "It's not a child; it's a real hellion." He swallowed. "He's badly behaved. I tried to discuss this with him and; he almost poked my eye out with his toenail!" Batman felt strangely smug at Jay's resourcefulness.

"So, I had to chloroform him." The words hung on a knife's edge, ready to dispense with the vigilante's previous relief.

"You chloroformed him," Batman parroted with a hint of peril. "You, an unqualified toymaker, chloroformed a child because you couldn't deal with the logical consequences of your actions." Unconsciously, he had stepped closer to Winslow; he loomed over the toymaker, his contempt and anger crystal clear. 

"Batman," Superman pitifully attempted to stop the flow of his diatribe. 

The vigilante ignored him. "Chloroforming people is illegal in the States because of its toxicity. You've kidnapped a child and used a highly dangerous substance on him because you've watched or read too many comics." His finger found the man's chest in one jabbing motion as he lowered his voice. "You're another mindless villain that'll cry high and low about your utter lack of intent to harm. No begging for forgiveness will ever bring back the dead." 

Winslow seemed uncertain whether he'd piss his pants or start crying, which, in Batman's opinion, was the perfect result. From the way Superman's lips twitched, he did not approve. However, he knew better than to start another debate in front of an audience. "Winslow? Could you please remove the bomb from the child's chest?" The criminal nodded and went in Jason's direction. Before Batman could follow him, a hand stopped him.

"Why did you do this?" The edge of the voice was sharper than Superman ever used in public- except for last week's incident, of course.

Now he's asking for clarifications? It was damn time. 

"You knew the child was safe,"the annoyed man continued. "Winslow has been steadily improving. Why would you terrify him like that?" 

"You call this rehabilitated?" Batman hissed back, gesturing in the direction the man had disappeared. "He traded one obsession for another; instead of forcing people to enjoy his toys, he's doing everything to protect your 'perfect' reputation. Your 'stern' words are useless; he needs to fear the consequences of his actions."

The Kryptonian narrowed his eyes. "Don't pretend this has anything to do with him. You're angry at me about our last confrontation but, instead of telling me the issue, you prefer to let your child vandalize statues; thus inflaming a longstanding rivalry between two cities. You scaring this elderly and dementia-prone man is you proving a point. That feeding on fear makes you strong instead of weak. It doesn't. Those men in Gotham didn't deserve to die, mere fuel to your obsession-driven quest. You don't want to admit that talking them out of the hostage situation or asking for my help would have produced better results."

_Superman knew._

_We had agreed not to seek each other's civilian identity._ How long had Superman known about his secret identity? Had he known it at their first impetuous kiss? Before they passionately made out in the Watchtower's medical room?

Bruce felt his heart disgustingly twisting; betrayal and vulnerability were never one of his best emotional cocktails. Dread filled his barely recovering heart, magnified with the concern with Superman's discovery-nothing intimated Batman, not even love, but the man behind the mask wasn't infallible.

Batman's rage rolled along his spine, thundering in his chest and into his tongue. "I'm not _you_. _I_ can't stop bullets with a flick of a wrist; _I_ can't hear every cry for help; _I_ can't travel at the speed of light. Fear _is_ a deterrent. It'll make them hesitate to shoot me and to attack someone in the middle of the night. I'm alive today because I am _feared_."

Superman shook his head. "You encourage their worst urges and instincts and escalate any situation. Maybe you've never considered the costs of _your_ actions. You use so much fear that you've set the stage for the worst villains imaginable. I don't believe it's a coincidence they all appear in Gotham. Fear pulls the worst of everyone, of _criminals_ and _superheroes_. Using patience and kindness propels you out of the circle of hatred and anger. Fear never does; it only perpetuates the circle of hatred and violence."

Batman chuckled darkly. "And what about _your_ consequences?"

Superman frowned, clearly confused. His lips glittered in a way the vigilante had once loved. Now, it was further proof of his alienness.

" _Your_ cults and mindless followers listen in ecstasy to your words. They deify Superman. And why shouldn't they? _He'll_ save everyone by himself; _he's_ so kind and powerful _he_ should rule over us- that's the message _you're_ sending. _You've_ made him so flawless that _he's_ almost impervious to criticism. _Your_ fanatic followers grow ever stronger by the hour and, through them, dictatorship isn't that far away." 

"B," Superman violently interrupted, hands on Batman's arm, voice tightly winded. "You better than anyone know _I've_ never wanted that. You know I've striven to improve for everyone's sake, not for personal gain."

Batman's eyes narrowed. "Unintended or not, _your_ appearance brings consequences in the same way mine does."

Superman shook his head. "That's your excuse for acting as you do in both identities? That you're scared of the burden of expectations? That you _fear_ the weight of your role? Nobody indeed expects much from playboy and drunken Bruce Wayne." 

"As for Batman, you've led people to believe you are ready to tie a bomb to a child. Does this help you sleep better at night? Playing with the ambivalence of good and bad is a slippery trip to undertake. Is it a heady power-trip to play with _temptations_?" Harshness dripped from the tongue Batman used to savour on his. Sweet like rotten fruit.

With that, he threw back his cape and walked to his ward's location. He knew Superman would be forced to release him, that, his strength notwithstanding, Superman _could not_ hold him against his will. It was the loop-hole in Superman's endeavour for perfectness. The flaw Batman exploited mercilessly to his benefit.

Winslow Schott shivered at Batman's appearance behind him. Something primal and vicious in the vigilante was satisfied; the toymaker would think twice before kidnapping another child. When Superman floated in, the tension was palpable: nobody said anything as Winslow worked his way through his booby trap.

"It's done." 

"Good," Batman rasped. "Superman, bring the child back to his _guardian_. I'll get this _criminal_ back to jail." Superman opened his mouth to contest his decision, yet closed it when he saw the venom in his colleague's eyes. Batman would punish the criminals and Superman would reunite families; this was how they were supposed to be. By working together, they would show, to calm tensions, there was no real animosity between them, even if it were untrue. They were symbols, mascots; it was their job to ensure everyone forgets that they were people-with real-life issues- too behind their fancy disguises. Although their conflict was far from resolved, they had an image to carry, something even Superman understood- especially, since he was the root of the problem by rendering their private dispute public, he had unwittingly started a hateful discourse.

Dropping off Winslow without incident, Batman focused on returning to being Bruce Wayne, worried and incompetent guardian of Jason Todd. He chose Superman's last unstained monument for his reunion with his son, perhaps more in an ironic gesture than conciliatory measure. Superman did not disappoint. 

Descending from heaven, an irritated Jason Todd in tow, the superhero attracted a crowd. Bruce Wayne, shaking in barely exaggerated relief, hugged his ward against his chest. "Thank you, Superman. Thank you..." he babbled to his son's 'saviour.' In front of a panoply of cameras, Superman, ever gracious, gently reassured him it was nothing. All the while, Jay glared at both of them.

Jay turned to Bruce. "Where's my bag?"

Bruce couldn't hide the bag in his arms. "Here?"

Jay politely smiled, which, never augured well. "Thanks." He searched in his bag and threw an egg at the Superman monument. Bruce had the unfortunate simultaneous want to facepalm and high-five his ward.

"Oh, and," Jay whirled to Superman, "Thanks for saving me, you wig-wearing-Wonka."

_Wig-wearing-Wonka?_

Unblinking and still smiling, Superman answered: "You're welcome. Have a safe trip home."

With a final nervous laugh, Bruce dragged his ward to his car amidst a growing number of photographers. 

When they were safely on the road, Jay stretched his arms. "I want a hot-dog."

Bruce sighed. "Did you have to insult him and throw an egg at his monument after he saved you?"

Jay grinned at him. "You're welcome."

"What?" The older man was baffled by his ward's non sequitur.

Jay gestured at him. "You're whining again. For a while, I thought you were a zombie."

And, to Bruce's utter surprise, he did feel alive. It wasn't as if his burden had lessened or as if his heart had healed, no, something simpler had happened: he felt entirely present in the car.

His hands might have slightly shaken on the wheel; his throat grew hoarse. "Metropolis's chili dogs are famously hot. Maybe we should pair it with something cool."

Jay's smile turned lopsided. "You sure Alfie would appreciate the voice imitation?"

Bruce shrugged. "I used to imitate his polite talk to annoy him. Instead, he praised me for finally polishing my manners."

"Damn, he's a formidable foe." Once upon a time, Jay would have used that awestruck tone to talk about Batman. If Bruce's admiration for his butler had not been equal to Jason’s, he would have been jealous.

"Wait until he expects you to finish his broccoli casserole before saying that."

The sliver of normalcy he felt after their outing lasted through their night, their court cases and beyond. He went to work, took selfies with fans, flirted with socialites, arrested criminals, cooperated with the Justice League and bonded with his ward.

He should have known it wouldn't last. 

One day, Alfred announced Clark Kent wanted to see him.

Swallowing his apprehension, Bruce asked, "Now?"

Unperturbable, stoic Alfred informed him he could refuse. Except, Bruce knew, catering to weaknesses helped their hold grow more extensive.

"Send him in."

Clark stumbled in the room in a way that didn't seem feigned. Their eyes met. Before Bruce could register the implication, Alfred closed the door behind the reporter. 

The same awkwardness that had saturated the air during their Metropolis joint mission hung heavy in the formal study. Hesitatingly, Clark broke eye contact and sat in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, his words echoing oddly on Bruce's mental defenses. The reporter sighed and looked at his former lover. "I shouldn't have criticized you publicly. That was immature of me."

The gaps in the words punched Bruce like a hammer on a nail, forcing him to acknowledge that Clark was not sorry for the breakup, but rather the format. Bruce could feel the gaping wound reopen and his blood seeping from his body. 

Clark looked contrite behind those hypocrite glasses. The words he didn't say answered some more of Bruce's internal questions.

"You were ashamed of me," the billionaire accused with a bitterness he thought he had discarded. 

This time, the other man averted his gaze. "Yes," Clark admitted so quietly that Bruce barely heard. The vigilante had heard about dying from a thousand cuts; that Clark's honesty would be the one doing him in was a surprise. Maybe he had wanted Clark to deny his accusation; to prove Bruce wrong for once. At last, Bruce's inner defenses kicked in, the ones that overflew with anger to counter the vulnerabilities and hurt aftertaste. 

"That's your moral superiority at its finest," Bruce mocked, trepidation at hurting himself as much as Clark had. "You've always thought I was lesser than you. You're finally honest about it."

Clark's head whipped back to him. This time, there was no repentance, no weakness in his eyes: only steel. "Stop putting words in my mouth, Batman. I've never thought you were lesser than me."

Bruce crossed his arms and smirked at him. 

"It's true, Batman. I love you."

"Like you would a pet," Bruce taunted. "A stupid dog who doesn't know better than to fall for your pretensions."

Superman's eyes shimmered in red. His fists clenched. Still, Superman retained his calm, refusing to let himself get baited into Bruce's territory. "I've come to put this in the past, either kick me out or let me finish. We're adults; it's time we acted as such."

Bruce's smirk froze sinisterly on his face. 

Superman knew better than to stop his momentum. "We've been partners and teammates for years. At that time, my respect for you has grown. We worked well together." 

Bruce braced for the inevitable 'but.'

Superman paused. "I fell in love with the determined man I met. With the superhero with which nothing was impossible." He looked genuinely sad about falling for Batman. Bruce tried not to flinch at the emotional stabbing he'd just endured. Damn, it hurt. 

The superhero recommenced his ruthless assault on Bruce's self-esteem and love. "However, the more time I spent with you, the more I questioned your methods. Necessity is a word you use too frequently to explain your lies and your dubious actions."

Bruce felt relieved this was Superman's 'but.'"You fear to debase yourself with humanity's mess?"

Superman shook his head. "You made a child soldier out of your first son. I'm afraid you'll make another out of your second."

All of Superman's previous cuts hadn't done as much damage as that one. It had been the fear Bruce had held the most since the first Robin's appearance. Bruce's flinch confirmed Superman's hypothesis.

"You can rationalize your decision any way you deem acceptable, but you've endangered a child you've sworn to protect. Your children need parents more than superheroes. What you are doing is **_wrong_**."

Superman had never lived in Gotham. He didn't understand that fighting off against this place was the only way to survive its glum; that, every day, children lost their will to live. Bruce had seen their blank, emotionless gazes. There were many ways someone could die: Gotham owned them all. Escaping was not even an option; once you've lived in Gotham, you were part of her domain, no matter where you moved.

The coldness in Bruce's spine froze his bleeding feelings. He'd survived this heartbreak. He'd survived his parents' murder: this, in comparison, paled.

"Are you going to arrest me?" Batman asked, unyielding. 

Superman didn't look surprised by his question. "No. I am not even going to report you to the Children's Aid Society."

Batman laughed. What a hypocrite. If Superman couldn't abide by the grey zone Batman had inhabited, he should at least show his conviction's strength by going all the way. 

"That's the only compromise I could make," Superman explained.

"You don't have the willpower to follow your conviction."

"I can't afford to gain you as an enemy," Superman corrected. "Even though I've only seen your brief interactions with your son, it's plain to see you genuinely love him. If I were responsible for his removal from your care, no matter if it would on a well-founded basis, you'd lash out at me. Frankly, Batman, I don't have the time or energy to deal with the fallout even if I disagree with your parenting decisions."

Batman knew that his reasoning was sound: he would never forgive someone who took Jay away from him. He held his son's best interest at heart; he always had. It was so easy for anyone to judge parents, so easy to comment on the mistakes they thought they saw. Superman could, from his pedestal, blame Batman for his pragmatic decisions.

Batman would always be the one making the hard decisions, the controversial ones. Superman couldn't afford them. In his world, everything was salvable; nothing was beyond repair.

He wasn't Bruce, struggling to pierce together bits and pieces of his life. He wasn't Batman, clothing himself in a cape of lies and superstition to preserve his life.

Superman made the right decisions; Batman made the needed decisions. And that made all the difference between them.

"In a way," Batman concluded, "You think I'm a necessary evil."

Superman winced at the wording. "I don't know."

"What."

"I don't know," Superman earnestly continued, determined eyes, "whether your evil pretense is necessary. Maybe you are simply deluding yourself."

Batman grinned as he leaned forward, eyes on his prey. "Maybe."

Superman, still disguised as his secret identity, carded his hair in a gesture that made him seem human. Now, in this place and time, he didn't look so perfect. Tired and conflicted, this alien resembled the lie he had striven to be. Superman had mirrored the reverse trend. 

Mayhaps Superman feared that Batman and Bruce would actualize his lies in the same fashion; that he'd become truly ruthless and murderous while becoming superficial and indifferent. It was hard not to get lost in the role.

Bruce fixed on Superman, waiting for him to either go or to start a fight.

For a moment, the clock's ancient ticking furnished the silence and highlighted the ever growing distance in their relationship; no longer lovers nor trusted friends; they were embittered allies.

"Sorry." Superman, for his part, looked heartbroken: his face frozen in an apologetic grimace.

The word lingered uselessly. 

"Bruce, I... don't want this to end." His pleading eyes splattered weakly on Batman's indifference. 

"You ended it by yourself," the vigilante spat. "Don't expect me to play the nice, comprehensive ex-lover."

Superman's eyes implored him to, at least, hear him out. The minutes, like Superman's hopes, ticked away. When the last of his optimism had melted away, he briefly closed his eyes. He pressed his hands on his eyes and, for a second, Batman thought he was crying. 

As Superman's eyes reopened, Bruce noticed they were dry. "Since you want me gone, I'll go."

Slowly, especially for someone gifted with superspeed, Superman rose from his seat and walked to the door.

Superman was gone.

***

**Six months later**

At first glance, the shop wasn't dilapidated. Although the paint was faded away and the furniture had seen better days, everything was scrumptiously clean. Posters of a bygone past hid some of the worst mishaps; tablecloths draped over the used wooden tables; lemon scent camouflaged the cigarette aftertaste of old rules overruled by common sense.

Bruce had chosen this unpresumptuous coffee shop as his olive branch. However, waiting for his counterpart, he had to wonder if it was another mistake in a long list of missteps.

He forced himself to let his phone rest on the table without touching it. Instead, he looked outside at the rain falling loudly, his fingers moving around his napkin. It wasn't even supposed to rain today. For someone supposedly prepared for every possibility, his lack of umbrella was proof of his inner disarray.

Would Clark come? 

Maybe this was futile- another evidence on display as to his unwillingness to see the facts. Alfred had often chastised him for his inability to let things go. Such was the man he had grown up to be.

"Is that an ostrich?" a familiar voice asked. Bruce whirled around.

Despite horrible glasses askew in his nose, Superman was still as beautiful as inhumanly possible.

Superman, in disguise, gestured to the napkin in Bruce's hands. Baffled, the man in question looked at the item. Somehow, he had unconsciously folded an ostrich. 

Bruce dumbly replied, "It's an ostrich." Never in his life had he felt this stupid and redundant.

Clark examined him with mild frowning. He pinched his lips and sat in front of Bruce. "I guess you must have been popular at primary school's parties."

Bruce shrugged. "I was never invited."

Clark stared at him, silence stretching between them. The ball was in Bruce's court. He had enough self-awareness to know he sucked at this.

"My mother... literally thought idle hands were a devil's work. She got me books and a special paper. I was good at it," Bruce rambled like a lunatic. Clark nodded encouragingly. 

He could feel the sweat pouring out of his forehead; he should shut up. Instead, he gestured to his ostrich. "Ostriches are a lot meaner in real life than in picture books. Never, ever taunt them, even for training purposes."

Clark gave him a small crystal resounding laugh- something that soothed Bruce's growing anxiety. "I grew up around vicious chickens. If your ostriches were anything like Joy, I'm surprised you still have skin on your legs."

Bruce grimaced in sympathy. 

Clark's face returned to polite neutral. "Why am I here, Bruce?"

Bruce's heartbeat spiked- adrenaline shot through his system as if he was facing Bane, unharmed. To give himself time, he sipped his coffee to steady himself. 

"There'll never be another Robin," Bruce admitted as he glanced outside. 

A week ago, Jason had told him the truth; that he thought being a Robin was a requirement to being adopted. Of course, the kid had said it casually, as if it hadn't mattered. Horrified with the statement, his guardian had stopped training him to be Robin. Bruce had almost saved a kid from a life on the street by forcing him to fight for his life in the streets. 

Confessing his mistake was the hardest thing Bruce had ever done. But, he had to learn from his mistakes; that's how he was still alive in the fast-paced Gotham. 

Maybe Bruce shouldn't have chosen this place: waiters still hadn't come to take Clark's order or refilled his mug. It was almost as if they were alone in this rain covered bubble, as they were alone in the Fortress of Solitude or the Watchtower. Fantasy-woven love sated no one's reality; instead, it depleted their energy to deal with each other's flaws. 

Batman was never going to be the paragon of virtue Superman was forced to be; Gotham would never erect statues in honour of its vigilante, Batman had seen to it. 

Bruce blinked the moment away. He pushed himself up and glanced at Clark once. "That's all I wanted to say. Thanks for coming."

Closure: washing away the bitterness of their breakup with the truth. Bruce had accomplished his mission, time to leave.

A hand grabbed his arm in a tight grip before he could walk past Clark. Surprised, the billionaire looked at the reporter stonily watching him, anger bright in his eyes. Another moment, anger simmered to irritation. 

"Are you skipping the tab on your date?"

Bruce felt destabilized by the quiet accusation. "Order what you want, I've already footed the bill."

The reporter's eyebrows raised incredulously at his assumption. "Sit," he ordered, "you've promised me a conversation. I'm not leaving until you keep your word." 

For the first time since the beginning of their partnership, Bruce mindlessly followed the order and sat.

Clark watched him critically- Bruce felt shivers ran up his spine. "How are you, Bruce?" he gently asked. 

"I'm fine," the other man automatically responded, dread filling him up. Feelings were a dangerous territory, one Bruce had always known enough to avoid.

The reporter nodded. "You look better than after your first ward left you." The quiet observation maybe was just that, yet, Bruce might have detected a sad undercurrent. Looking at Clark's general appearance, he could recognize the humanness of Clark's heartbreak. Never had Superman seemed so- tired?

Purple underlined the man's eyes; his eyes looked more like a dimming star than a rising star. Clark pressed a hand in his hair. 

"I'm glad you're doing well," Clark softly said. _Because I'm not_ was left unspoken.

The waiter finally arrived at their table. They placed their orders. 

Left to their own devices, Bruce asked the question that had bugged him for a long time. "How long have you known I was...?"

A pale smile appeared on the reporter's face. "Since the beginning, Bruce. You've always been unimitable." Something warm spread in Bruce's stomach: Clark had always found him special. 

"How about you?"

Bruce weighted the lie against the truth. He couldn't help lying; he didn't know whether it was to preserve his ego or to give Clark the same warm feelings Bruce had felt at his confession. "Since the beginning."

Clark chuckled, "Best detective, indeed." His slightly cheerful expression slid off as his gaze fell on the tablecloth.

"What do you want, Clark?" 

The reporter's eyes wandered to his, caution carefully written in them. He shook his head. "This isn't about wanting anything." There was enough ambiguity in the wording for Bruce to interpret his meaning.

Bruce leaned forward. "Isn't it. Conversations and social interactions are _always_ about wanting something, whether it be innocent or not."

Clark swallowed and looked at the folded ostrich. "Can you make other animals?" A tactical retreat it was.

Bruce nodded. "Anything in particular?"

The waiter's timing sucked; he almost dropped a plate on Bruce's hands. "Sorry!" As quickly as he had appeared, the waiter disappeared. 

Bruce gestured his head in the napkin's direction. Clark shook his hand in negation. "Eat up."

It was strange to see Clark smiling at him eat with his elbows leaning on the table. "I've missed you," Clark declared just as Bruce was about to take another bite of his salad. With a billionaire staring at him, Clark continued: "I've missed your expressions and your smiles. I've missed your pronunciation and your silence... I've missed you so much, Bruce, I can't do this again."

Scowling, Bruce asked. "What do you mean."

Sighing, Clark pressed his palms on his face. "I can't be shut out of your life like this again."

Bruce tilted his head. 

Clark gestured to them. "You asked me what I wanted. I want _us_. But, I'll tell you my boundaries now: tell me yours. If we can't work around those boundaries, we shouldn't even try this again."

Bruce took his time swallowing, considering Clark's proposal. "Okay."

Clark angled his face at him. "Okay?"

"Every country needs boundaries. Ill-defined boundaries usually develop into war. It's logical to make treaties dealing with them."

Clark blinked at him, once, then twice and started laughing. 

Frowning, Bruce asked, "What's so funny?"

Clark shook his head. "You took it literally. Jesus, B, this is not a geopolitical course."

"The analogy stands." Bruce shrugged. Frowning, he asked. "Where's your food?"

Clark glanced at the kitchen. "Nobody's cooking anything other than pop tarts. _How_ did you find this place?"

"Ng."

Clark smiled, more genuinely this time. "Negotiating treaties would take a while, I suppose. Maybe we should reserve a weekly lunch date for that purpose?" 

Bruce chewed his tasteless salad some more. Could it get any blander? "Thursday usually works for me. As long as it's not this place."

"I don't know," Clark said with a mischievous glint, "I think this place is just quaint enough for us. Besides, nobody can overhear us."

Bruce pointed his fork menacingly at his interlocutor. "That's because we're the only ones dumb enough to eat here! Diarrhea and vomiting are no joke for a vigilante."

Clark looked up pensively. "That's a new image to add to my mental Batman collection."

"Fuck you," Bruce slammed his fist on his table. The waiter didn't have the courtesy to check up on the noise's provenance. This place was closing within the week, Bruce decided, or he'd close it himself.

"Fuck you too," Clark grinned. Yet, despite the actual words used, Bruce still heard a tender 'Love you too.'

He was so doomed. 


End file.
